


All This Devotion

by countessofbiscuit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha ARCs - Freeform, Clonecest, Ethical Muddle, F/M, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kamino, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Military Dubcon, Xeno, clonepile, institutional slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29108811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessofbiscuit/pseuds/countessofbiscuit
Summary: Three things are certain in life: death, the Force, and the insistence of a togruta’s heat. Stationed on Kamino, Shaak Ti can now add rain and the dedication of ARC troopers to that list.
Relationships: Blitz/Colt/Havoc/Shaak Ti, Blitz/Shaak Ti
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	All This Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> The Shaak Ti/Rancor Squad gangbang I thought nobody would ever ask for.

“Are you alright, General?” 

The map on the viewscreen expanded. Shaak Ti stared at the dispersal of the Second Army, pointedly, more bothered than she cared to admit by how closely Blitz had chosen to stand. “Yes, Commander, quite,” she lied. 

Blitz was one of the more solicitous Alphas, all of whom married intuition with professional pride in a way that said they wouldn’t want the Force even were it offered. He did not accept this untruth. “Lama Su called you _mistress_ three times. You didn’t correct him.” 

“There are battles enough, some days,” Shaak Ti said. Tackling the Prime Minister’s insistence on outdated titles was not one for today. 

“And you never shy from any.” Blitz hadn’t moved, but somehow his presence grew with his confidence in being right. “You’re very hot.” 

The bottom of Shaak Ti’s stomach puddled into her groin. Her stripes flushed. It was the worst thing he could have said. “Excuse me?” she demanded, finally turning to face him. 

“Infrared doesn’t lie, sir.”

Shaak Ti felt incredibly exposed. Unfairly observed. She swallowed the impulse to tell him not to flag her with his senors, just as Commander Colt had firmly requested her not to flag them with the Force. Blitz was trying to be helpful. Kamino was their home, their area of responsibility. And although she was trying to be helpful, too, she was an interloper, a stranger whose character and peculiarities needed to be roundly understood in order for them to do their jobs. 

And her body was candid. 

It was determined to make an honest togruta out of Shaak Ti. She was more than warm. The _burn_ was beginning. The kindling was there, dry and licked into flame by pheromones. The best air-scrubbers in the galaxy couldn’t hide some things from a predatory plains species. She’d smelt the lust on them for weeks, here in this bleached city where sterility was an art form, where nature was scoured clean. But where virility could not be controlled. Her arrival had caused a flurry of activity among the clone staff that had nothing to do with the presence of a Jedi or an outsider in their midst. It was in the unreserved awe of their deep eyes. In the damp patches on their training blacks. In the lingering ache in their wrists. Shaak Ti’s many senses had discerned it all. 

Her heat was upon her, and it was inflamed. And she wasn’t in the Temple, anymore. 

“Alright. I will own it.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not well, and I'll be even worse for the next day or two.”

Blitz’s helmet canted slightly to the left. He stepped even closer. “What’s wrong?”

 _How much I want to bite you._ “That’s personal, Commander.” 

“With respect, sir, we’re in a heightened state of readiness, and anything that may compromise your health — ”

“Command devolves the same.”

“If you expect to be incapacitated in any way, Commander Colt should be informed.”

 _Oh, please don’t name_ him, _too._ An idea was germinating in Shaak Ti’s mind, rooted in biology and matriarchal instincts — and in the kindness the command cadre had shown her when she’d stepped off that shuttle, Geonosian dust still clinging to her robes. Commanders Colt, Blitz, and Havoc had removed their helmets unbidden, in unison. They were the first fresh clone faces she’d seen, not bloodied or twisted in agony. And they were very handsome. 

On Shili, she would’ve had a harem to protect and cherish and serve. And who would have served her in turn — 

She banished the thought before she flared whiter in Blitz’s HUD. 

The Council had sent her here that she might grow confident in her ability to teach and nurture success once again. To oversee a programme she feared rife with ethical abuse. To counsel the Kaminoans on sapient integrity and encourage them to regard the clones as something more than product. She was _not_ here to satisfy herself with her subordinates, singly or otherwise. 

She was a Jedi Master. If she couldn’t master herself in _this,_ after all these years, how could she claim mastery of the Force that flowed through her? A Jedi had to rise above base needs — and be humble enough to admit problems and devise solutions with peers. Historically, the solution to this issue involved much meditation and a temporary relocation to a sealed chamber at the distant end of the itinerants’ hall. 

Shaak Ti returned her attention to the commander still lingering with unnerving focus. “Fine. I will inform him.”

“Fine,” clipped Blitz. “Thank you, _Mistress_ Ti.” He turned heel and left her gaping at his nerve.

And at the sway of his patterned kama below his belt. And the subtle smell of rain-damp wood he left behind him. 

Later, when the ache between her legs gnawed at her brain, Shaak Ti hurried to the medbay to beg soporifics from a droid. A familiar lightness had set into her limbs, as her inguinal organs sponged up blood. Her awareness tunnelled. It became harder to hold onto the serenity of the Force — it was sensitive and slippery like that, like trying to grip a current of water. Existing in the moment, too, demanded great effort. She had to concentrate on exchanging a cold nod with Hina Me, on acknowledging the waist-high salutes of a cadet company, their backs straight against the bowed walls. 

Shaak Ti finally reached her room. Tipoca City wasn’t warm, and still she blasted the air cooler in the colorless, compact space, made larger by the transparisteel wall that overlooked the ocean; a meditation stool, Fe’s beads, some cacti from the Temple Gardens — a reminder of rain’s blessing, not its ubiquity — formed the sum of its personal effects. She began to strip with trembling hands. 

Maturation brought much relief. Her biannual cycles weren’t as long, nor dangerous; she’d been in the habit of meditating her way through them, though she always crashed afterwards, bandwidth of mind and body maxed out. When that failed, downers, a device, and some do-not-disturb instructions could set her right after a day or three. That would be her method here, where the Force flowed thinly and the air was thick with androgens. 

Commander Colt was not told. Not explicitly. As her tool warmed in the nanowave, Shaak Ti fired off a simple message to him: she was seriously unwell, and he was to consider himself in temporary command of the Grand Army stationed on Kamino, along with its reserves and training facilities. She was on comms for emergencies, but was not to be physically disturbed for love or credits.

Alphas were headstrong. They were never satisfied when they’d found the end of a problem; they had to pull it up by the roots with both hands and ask the grass why it grew. She had come to appreciate this about them. Her respect had been earned three, four, five times over by their blistering competence that ran circles around her own sluggish climb up the learning curve. 

But when they knocked on her door just as the nanowave dinged, Shaak Ti wished she’d never met them at all. 

There were two of them. They had moved in step down the quiet hall, but her montrals weren’t fooled, picking up the mass of their footfalls. The Force practically shouted their signatures. Blitz she knew best: cool and supple, yet columnar, like the limb of some great, unseen god; and Havoc, gritty and shifting, the scree slope of a mountain. Shaak Ti had the disconcerting feeling that they could smell her — not in any conscious way, like she could smell them. Just enough that it reinforced a need to roam in pairs, which they never did. It was Havoc’s shift now. But it wasn’t her place to question their duty rostering, just as it wasn’t _his_ place to come here as shift commander and order her from her quarters. Only the Prime Minister could do that. 

“Sir, Commander Colt insists we escort you to the medbay.” Blitz’s voice was full and clear, without the canniness of a helmet. 

Shaak Ti frowned. “My compliments to the Commander, but that’s not necessary,” she said, affecting an authority she didn’t feel. She felt drunk. It was a heavy intoxication that sagged in her lekku, not the giddiness that bubbled in her tips after one too many passes at the punchbowl. 

The silence was mighty. If they were discussing next steps, it was in handsign. 

“We know,” Blitz finally replied. “We’re here to help.”

Shaak Ti stood stunned, keeping her distance from the door. She would _not_ open it. But she called her shimmersilk robe to hand, all the same. 

Jango Fett, the Clone _Template,_ their progenitor, had ordered the Alphas to obey and serve the Jedi. That was their prime directive. Shaak Ti wasn’t even sure what oath they’d taken, if any. But she was bound by many things; she’d spent nights committing the Republic Code of Military Justice to memory. _Ill-treatment of subordinates_ and _misapplication of service property_ came presently to mind. If she accepted their help, they would ask all manner of questions and seek her direction and would be bound to comply. It would not be right.

She gathered herself against the _want_ clamoring in her body. “I’ve made myself clear, gentlemen. No assistance is needed. Medical or otherwise. Goodnight.” 

Blitz spoke up again. “With respect, sir, we know about your condition — ” 

“We may be Alpha planks, sir,” Havoc cut in, “but we can read. And you’re a textbook example of a togruta in estrus.”

Shaak Ti stifled a mewl in her fist. She hadn’t made a noise like that since her feral teenage years. She sagged against the wall. _How did they ... ?_ It wasn’t a _secret_ phenomenon, true — as mundane as any bodily function, really. But they had conspired! They had bored a peephole into her life. For the second time that day, she felt rudely observed. 

It was, however, rather rich to be affronted by that, when she’d come here to oversee, monitor, inspect and otherwise _snoop._

“Let us help you, sir. Isn’t it better that way?” Blitz offered. 

So much better: gorged on pleasure, in throbbing harmony with all life, magnified by her own gifts. She’d done it once, with a clan on Shili during her maturation rites. It’d been almost enough to sway her from a different kind of service, as she’d lain there, an open vessel for every feeling, carnal and uncomplicated. 

These men were under no duress, not in this moment. They were consenting, _volunteering_ freely. Outside of Shili, no one had done that for her before, not even fellow knights; certainly no masters, even when she’d reached their ranks. Was it not a honor to the Force, to offer a kindness unbidden to someone in need? It would be over sooner, too: just a standard day, if they kept up the pace. She was well-matured and no longer in the prime of reproductive life. And there was _more_ of them, in every sense ... 

Shaak Ti’s hand had slithered between her legs, fingering into her wetness. She didn’t have to imagine how big they’d be. With the height of scientific pride and the depths of indelicacy, Hina Me had paraded four naked clones before her, one of each patented Fett type, bemoaning that she had no sample from their first test batch, for, though deranged, the viable half had been remarkable specimens of human physicality. Their statures differed subtly, but Shaak Ti couldn’t help noticing that they were uniformly well-endowed. All eyes front, but only the Alpha clone had met hers, deliberate and defiant. Asking his name seemed inappropriate, and her embarrassment had only compounded with time, to still not know which officer had been made to endure that humiliation. 

Had it been one of hers who thickened before her, until he hung heavy in her peripheral — ?

Shaak Ti squeezed her eyes shut. She skirted around her bed to the far corner of her room, under the cooling air duct, and stared out at the roiling deep. The silk glued to her, dampening with her heat. It would be fouled. So much the better, perhaps: it was a strange and shameful gift from Halle Burtoni. 

“You cannot help,” she said, more to her reflection than to the men in the hall. What would her peers say? The opinion of the Kaminoans didn’t concern her, but they would surely go red in the fin and sniff at her. “I am responsible for you. As a — ” She didn’t want to say _Jedi._ It seemed unfair. A brevetship of chance, when they were more capable in many respects. “A representative of the Republic.” 

“An administrative detail,” Blitz countered. “We were no one’s responsibility until you came along.”

Heat surged down her lekku. The primal excitement of a threat. “You question my authority?” Her white brow scowled back at her in the pane. Fett might have ordered them to obey, but had clearly said nothing about holding their tongues; they took grumbling and constructive criticism as an act of religion.

“No, sir. We respect it,” said Blitz. “Just as we respect your ability to act responsibly towards us when this is all over. Do you think we can’t do the same?” 

Surely this constituted some form of entrapment. But Shaak Ti couldn’t find the logic to argue. Not now, when she felt like a besh with a body attached. “I cannot ask this of you,” she said. When the silence stretched, she realized she’d whispered it to the waves. She repeated herself, louder. “I cannot ask this of you.” 

“You aren’t,” Blitz clarified for the record. “We’re offering.” 

Havoc spoke up. “Honestly, sir, you’d be doing Blitz a favor. He’s been rutting into his cod ever since you got here.” 

Shaak Ti wheeled round, lekku spinning, feeling the pressure wave of _something_ imminent. 

Then came the thunderclap of armor against the door. A scuffling ensued. They were fighting. Something absolutely unheard of in togruta males, and it was not attractive. At the same time, it was also potentially embarrassing for everyone involved in this bizarre negotiation. 

If only her door had been locked from without, too. It was altogether too easy for Shaak Ti to slide it open with a flick of her wrist, allowing two officers to stumble into her room and out of sight. 

Blitz and Havoc clipped halfway to attention in their confusion, shuffling their helmets under their arms. Their pauldrons kissing, their eyes not diverted. They looked surprised — youthful, like two Padawans whose Force antics had granted them access to the larder.

Or maybe that was her. 

The room was suddenly so much smaller. Suffused with their scent, too: musky, undisguised, and mouthwatering. 

Shaak Ti's loneliness burst its buried dam. She worked in separation, she lived in isolation. Nala Se was courteous, as welcoming as any Kaminoan could be, but she was not a fellow master. There was no community here that she might join. There were the troops and there were the natives with their rigid caste system. She understood a cadre of off-world trainers had lived here alongside the Prime Clone, but his death and the outbreak of the war apparently ended their contracts; a handful remained in the Special Operations wing, but they were Mandalorians — they made the Kaminoans look friendly. 

These persistent men had changed everything. They’d just shifted the center of gravity. Shaak Ti’s every thought rolled down into her besh, hungrily. She needed to consume and be consumed. 

She let her robe slip, giving in, only if for a night.

**Author's Note:**

> Kamino canonically intended to use the Fett template to create its own loyalist army to ensure its isolation — potentially even from the Republic itself (this actually plays out in the EU). I figure the Kamino Security unit seen in S6 is part and parcel of that, its creation galvanized by the Battle of Kamino and, extrapolating from the casualties we see on screen, the devastation of the existing garrison. I kinda interpret “Rancor Battalion” as that garrison unit, in charge of keeping security beefed up, functioning as MPs, and training next-gen clones. Making Colt, Blitz, and Havoc Alphas was an easy, id-scratching leap from there. 
> 
> Anyway, there's my meta upon which this smut is scaffolded :)
> 
> Expect a rating change.


End file.
